


Vampire: Gladiolus Amicitia

by accursedbambina



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Blood and Gore, Genetically Engineered Beings, Human Experimentation, Hybrids, Internal Conflict, Kidnapping, Missing Persons, Revenge, Vampire Hunters, Vampires, dangerous wooomuun, who's the villain idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2019-09-18 17:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16999446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accursedbambina/pseuds/accursedbambina
Summary: After a horrible car accident that left Gladio hanging on to the last fibers of his life, you—the mistress of the Silvercross empire—grant his wish to turn him into a Children of Hell.Gladio knows that he should steer clear of you, but you make it very difficult for him when you occasionally, unexpectedly, let your other side slip. And he finds himself drawn, little by little, to your dangerous beauty and the dark, mysterious sadness that sometimes embraces you. And he doesn't want to admit it, but some part of him wishes to be pricked by your wicked thorns.





	1. First Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WC: 2,088

_ 825 years ago, the Hunter Parliament launched a widespread purification which killed hundreds and thousands of vampires throughout the land of Eos. The Vampire State Council countered with their own force and thus the purge came to a stop. This act of mass purging was called the White Cleanse. _

“Mistress, he’s still breathing but only faintly. Looks like he’s not going to make it,” Marlene reports to me over her shoulders. 

The scene around us is a picture of an inferno—the fire engulfing the upturned vehicle is licking tall to the black sky. The billowing smoke swirling upward like herds of dark apparitions. The air smells of melting metals and gas. And blood. It’s no mystery of what has happened here. The rogue vampire that Marlene killed now is just a heap of dried bones next to the car.

I look down at the dying man at my feet—Gladiolus Amicitia.  _ What a pity. He’s still so young. _ “Kill him. It’s the most we could spare him,” I say.

Marlene nods her head in acknowledgment and pulls out a dagger from inside her boot and about to plunge it in his chest when Gladiolus catches her tiny wrist. “Mistress.” Marlene looks back to me, waiting for my instructions. 

I move closer. “You’re gravely wounded, Mr. Amicitia. I’m afraid you won’t be able to make it even if I call the ambulance. Won’t you let me bring you out of your suffering quickly?”

Gladiolus’ bloody mouth bobs imperceptibly as if he no longer has the strength to move his jaws. No sound comes from him. 

“He wants to live,” Marlene observes.

I wave a hand and Marlene moves away. I kneel down next to him and brush away the strands of hair crusted onto his face with dried blood. “Do you want to live, Mr. Amicitia?” I ask him. “My name is Y/N Silvercross. Do you wish help from us?” He’s making weak and quiet sounds but I understand. I puncture the skin on my wrist with my fangs and hold it over his mouth and listen to my blood going down his throat as he drinks. 

The slits of amber peaking through his half lids still hold a fire in them; a dying flame burning to the last embers. He’s beautiful, I must say. He could be a lovely little play thing. “I’m sorry this happened to you. After tonight you will not live how you’d lived.” With a tilt of my chin Marlene brings the blade down through his heart.

~

Eighteen-year-old Gladio chased down a rogue vampire only to stop short at the sight of another one. He recognized her almost immediately. She had a distinguishable aura and appearance that stood her out amongst others. Her vivid eyes dug deep into him like a hot iron poker, and he found himself hopelessly fixated in his spot. 

Head of the first hunter family, the Silvercross. Also a former hunter from the perished L/N family. Y/N Silvercross, formerly F/N.

“Get out of my way, Silvercross,” Gladio growled at her.

But she merely smiles, melting away the darkness on her face. “Seems like my little one has misbehaved. The fault comes to me for neglecting thorough discipline in him. Allow me to handle it, Mr. Amicitia.”

He leveled his sword at her. A continuing scowl on his face. “Do you even know what he’s done? Move or I’ll kill you too.”

Y/N glanced over her shoulder at the Rogue and he took the chance to flee.

“Get back here!” Gladio sprang to chase but she stood in his way, staring him down with a cold, warning gaze.

“I said I will handle him,” her voice rigid and sharp like cold steel. “He’s not feral so you can’t kill him. If you do, not only you are going to offend the Vampire State Council but also your own Hunter Parliament.” Then her tone softened. “I’m sure there are more important tasks you have on your list? I will take care of it. You may go now.”

Then his chest lurched with a single, painful thump, as if someone had brought a hammer down on it. His throat burned and crushing in with a cracking, drying hotness. He grabbed his neck. The more he stared at her the more disconcerted he’d become.

_ Blood… Stop looking at me… _

Gladio springs up from his dream, panting and utterly disturbed.

“My, you’re finally awake.” An old woman is standing at the side of his bed, wearing a friendly smile on her wrinkled face. Her gray hair is tied back into a neat knot. He looks around the unfamiliar, dark room he is in. The only source of light is coming from the circular moon outside and the dimmed chandelier on the ceiling, casting the room in cold and warm lights of silver and gold.

“Where am I?”

“You are in the Silvercross Manor. Our mistress saved you from a horrible car accident. I am the steward of this household. You may call me Granny Kimya. How are you feeling, Lord Amicitia?”

His head thrums. Everything is so loud in here. The wind howling outside is like screams of hellish demons from the underworld. The fire in the fireplace across the room roaring just like it had been in the car wreckage. And most of all, the coppery scent of something he’s so familiar with hit his senses with a lurch in his stomach. It smells so good. He looks down at the woman’s hands; she’s carrying a silver tray with a glass filled of crimson red liquid, taunting him as he eyes it with a hungry gaze.

Granny Kimya offers the glass to him. “This will help with your bloodlust and clear your mind. With this you can complete the transformation.”

“Transformation?” he echoes.

“You’re in transitioning,” says a voice from the shadow in one corner of the room. The speaker comes into the light. To Gladio’s surprise the voice belongs to a young boy who looks to be thirteen or fourteen; a face that doesn’t match the deepness of his voice. His black hair is gelled up, his up-curved eyes give him a fierce look. A katana that looks a little bit too big for him is hanging at his hip. His dark eyes glint dangerously when he looks at Gladio. “You died with vampire blood in your system. And if you don’t drink blood, then you’re going to rot like a corpse you’re supposed to be.”

“Goodness, Masa. The poor man has just woken up. Could lessen some of that poison, why don’t you?” Gladio recognizes this voice. Three figures step into the room—one he recognizes almost instantly—Y/N Silvercross. Flanking her are two other girls: one is a small child, no older than six, with big round eyes and brown hair tied up with a pink ribbon. The other one looks the same as Y/N in appearance, with golden blond hair and crystal blue eyes. He knows this girl. The daughter of Abel French, a wealthy businessman. Y/N smiles. “Glad to see you’re awake, Mr. Amicitia. You look worse for wear.” She gestures toward the older girl. “This is Katya. She’ll be catering to you tonight. Go on.” She tilts her chin.

Katya spins around, a terrified look on her pale face. “Please! I don’t want to do this! Please let me go!”

Y/N doesn’t seem ruffled by the other girl’s pleas. Instead she gently cups Katya’s face as if to soothe her. “Of course I’ll let you go. But not until you satisfy my hungry guest over there.”

“Let her go. I won’t feed.” Gladio glares at Y/N.

“Then you’re going to die,” she says back. “Stubbornness is going to make suffering more difficult. You either drink and  _ live _ or die in a slow, excruciating pain.”

“A hunter stoops to no level of a damned creature. I won’t feed on human blood.”

Y/N stares at him silently, and then her lips curve up into a small smile. “You’re quite strong. I like that. But how long you can remain so obstinate?” She turns to leave and the others follow. She turns to Katya. “You stay here. Run away, and I’ll kill you.” Katya stiffens. Granny Kimya set the glass of blood down on the nightstand before leaving. Y/N addressed to Gladio over her shoulder. “You wanted me to save you. I don’t know why you’re rejecting it now.” With that everyone is out the room, leaving Katya and Gladio behind.

A heavy silence settles over the room, making it all the more dark. Gladio watches Katya’s shivering back as she stares blankly at the door where everyone has left. How does she even get herself in the hands of a vampire? But he remembers vampires do whatever they want with little to no effort spended. “Just go,” he says in a low tone.

Katya whirls around, eyes wide and teary. She’s insufficiently dressed, he now realizes. No signs of an elite lady from an aristocratic family. Gladio remembers reports of the French company going bankrupt and Abel French has lost his estate and is thrown into a large amount of debt. 

He couldn’t have done that to his own daughter, could he?

“But...she said she’ll kill me if I run away.”

“Tonight she leaves to a meeting with the State Council. She won’t be back until dawn. So take this chance and go as far as you can.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not your business—!” His chest pulses again and his muscles strain. He could hear it—the sound of hot, fresh blood rushing in her veins. The hunger is reaching for control. He turns away from her, trying hard to contain himself. “Go before I eat you!” 

Katya throws the door open and stumbles out to the dark corridor. She has no idea where to go as she frantically runs through a maze of dimmed halls. Dread rising up her spine with every step she takes. Her feet takes her out to a enormous garden but she doesn’t stop running. All of a sudden a few shadows materialize in front of her that stop her up short. She couldn’t see their faces but their wild, glowing eyes trap her in place with fear, their long white fangs catching the moonlight above, craving to sink them into soft flesh.

~

Next morning I go to check up on Gladiolus in his room when something stops me at the back of the foyer. That girl, Katya, lurching toward the front entrance as though she is half dead. Her shoulders are hunched forward and clamping a hand tightly on one side of her neck. She stops dead upon seeing me. I wave her over.

“What are you doing wandering around the house like that?” I say. “Do keep in mind naughty vampires roam around the premises.” My eyes shift to the multiple puncture wounds all over her arms and thighs.

She gives me a brave look, albeit trembling at what has been done to her. “I want to go home.”

“Oh yes. That brothel, is it? You didn’t seem to like it there very much so I got you out last night. Did I see it wrong?”

She shakes her head. Her knotted, fair hair coming over her sickly face. “I’ll never go back there. I’ll beg my father to let me home. I can’t go back to that vile place.”

“He sold you, did he not?” I say. “What makes you think he will let you in?”

Katya quivers. A look of distaste and aversion has brought some color back to her cheeks. “Then I’ll live on the streets. Those disgusting hands and ugly eyes touching and watching me...I’d rather die.”

I watch her quietly, finding her changing emotions rather amusing. “You have a strong flame in you. You  _ might _ stand a chance out there on your own.” I step closer. “But I bought you last night. So technically, you’re my property. If you want to be free you have to compensate for my purchase money.” Her eyes widen visibly and I laugh. “I thought you would cost a bit more.”

Katya swallowed nervously.

“Obviously you do not have the material to pay, so I will offer you another choice.”

“...What is it?”

My lips curve. I play with a strand of her hair. “Your daddy owes me quite a sum. And he’s offended me. We both shall pay him a visit.”


	2. Forever and Immortal

The curtains are still drawn back from last night. Sunlight streams into the room casting tall squares on the floor. The glass Granny Kimya placed on the nightstand is now on the floor, shattered in pieces; the blood spread in a deformed circle. Gladiolus is nowhere to be seen. If he is not in his room, there is only one place he would go in this house. His vampire senses would take him there. So I head down to the cellar.

The noise becomes clearer at the last step. The steady clinks of my heels echo down the dim corridor until I stop at the storage. The moment the door slides open, the rich smell of blood wafts in the air like perfume. I step inside, and there he is—on the floor surrounded by empty blood bags—my missing pup. 

Gladiolus chugs on one in his hand. His eyes feverish and bright as he glares at me. Then, tossing the last of the flattened plastic on the floor, he licks the remnants from his lips. “What? I’m hungry.”

“Please, help yourself,” I say. “I was looking for you and you were not in your room.”

“I’m right there.”

I move forward and can’t help noticing the subtle tremor of his body when I get close, like how a little cub would shiver at the sight of an approaching predator. The automatic response pleases me. “I’m amazed. You’ve endured the entire night without consuming blood at all. Not many fledglings have your sense of toleration.”

“I’m just another bloodsucking monster prowling the day and night now. Nothing’s different.”

“You are one of us now, better to come to terms with it sooner rather than later,” I say, moving to sit atop the large cooler now empty of blood bags. “In time you will come to find the vampire race is not half as bad as you think it is. The Parliament must infuse into the brains of their young disciples that we are threats to all that breathes, that we are solely in need to feed or relish in wicked deeds. Deemed us ‘condescending’ and ‘holier-than-thou’.” I shake my head. “We live forever. Immortals with lifetimes of knowledge and experience. Tell me humans are no less arrogant than we are. Considering how little they know of the world they live in.”

“I’m sure all species are arrogant,” says Gladiolus. “Sometimes I think vanity would be the death of ourselves. Modesty is a rather excellent beverage everyone should try.” 

I laugh demurely. “Mr. Amicitia has quite a sardonic streak. Charmed.” 

“Honestly, you can drop the Mr. Amicitia thing. Sounds too forced coming from you. Bothers me.”

“Oh? How should I call you then, little pup?”

“ _ Gladiolus, _ ” he declares in a forceful tone, eyes pointing daggers at me and I help myself to a chuckle.

Crossing my legs I lean forward, my chin on my palm. “Tell me,  _ Gladiolus _ . Why did you want me to save you? Do not reply to me that you did not know who I was. You wished to become a nightwalker and eagerly drank my blood.”

“I didn’t want to die. I want to see my family.”

My brows rise. “You became something you despise just so you could see your family?”

“You don’t have one so you don’t understand.” Gladiolus quickly halts his tongue, realizing what he’s said. “I’d live the path of the thing I hunt if it meant I could watch over my family from afar. Especially with these missing cases terrorizing the town.”

I blink, observing the thin scar that slashes down his left eye—a warrior’s mark that proves he survived a perilous ordeal. “I’m sure you are aware that you cannot return to them? You are no longer a Hunter. I have seen what the Parliament did to their fallen Hunters when they came back to kneel and profess their loyalty and service to the Six.” I lean back, holding his gaze. “They did to them what they deemed as an act of a ‘purifying execution’—to free their tormented soul from their corrupted, immortal body—to allow them ascension. You know what it looked like to me?”

Gladiolus stares at me with hard, inquisitive eyes. I see a spark of anguish in them as he imagines the horrid images in his head. “Hatred killing,” I confirm. “As if they saw no essence of a warrior left in them and severed them like roasts. No different than slaughtering a feral vampire. No mercy and no homage held in your name. Just a large red condemnation to your record, scarring whatever good deed you had ever done with the ‘lowly’ status you have become.”

Gladiolus swallows harshly, a furrow twisting his dark brows in aversion. “They ceased doing that. We give them either a choice to die quickly by our hands or resign from the Parliament and be on their own. If you choose to live, you must cut all ties with your family lest it brings disgrace to their name.”

“I think they—particularly the Hunters—fit the titles of condescending and selfish more so than anyone else alive.”

~

The next evening Gladio is summoned by Y/N to the grand courtyard where several vampires are also present. He has a faint notion of why he’s here but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it for sure. Y/N turns around when he approaches and the vampire who has escorted him here joins the rest in the line. “What’s going on?” He gauges the situation.

“I want to test your strength and control,” Y/N says. Tonight she wears an elegant dress that outlines her body, frills and laces cuff her sleeves and collar. It is as though she cannot be seen in a lesser put-together appearance. “As a novice vampire it is important you receive the proper training on how to execute your enhanced abilities, else you will end up a Feral, like the one who had crashed your vehicle.” Gladio twitches, irritated at her for regarding his deathly accident so casually as if it is merely a normal occurrence. “I’ll be walking you through different stages until you are capable on your own. Now, try attacking one of them.”

Gladio’s eyes flick to the row of vampires. She says this is a test—to judge his capabilities. A ghostly sense of an angry impulse tugs at his mind, urging him to attack with reckless abandon. A raw instinct that he’s not familiar with, and it unsettles him. If he’s not correctly disciplined and trained, that mindlessness will take over his sanity and turn him into a Feral. The thought sends a coldness down his back. He lowers into a stance, once he settles on a vampire he moves—with a swiftness so fast that, in a blink, he’s already at the man, ready to throw him to the ground. The vampire’s anticipated his movement and locked in position with him.

“Speed,” Y/N says. “Easy to control. Now I want you to read his stance. Predict his next movement.”

Gladio and the vampire step away, still keeping focus. This time the man comes at him in a blur and tackles Gladio to the ground.

“Reflex. Though a vampire’s reflexes are much faster than that of a human’s, but against older vampires yours still lacks a slight.” Y/N walks slowly to and fro as she speaks. Her posture is relaxed but tall like an instructor. “Nothing a little practice and time cannot hone. Stand up.” All the vampires position themselves in a line before Gladio. “Defeat all five of them. Use any methods you desire. And feel free to make the first move.”

Gladio studies them, calculating his first move in his head, as they move languidly around in a circle until Gladio stops near a wooden pole with vines twirling up its height. He flexes his fingers and curls them into hardened fists. In a motion so quick, he dislodges the post from the ground, breaks it in half with little effort, and targets the center man. 

Of course, the vampire leaps out of the way before it can hit him, and the splintered wood sings across the yard to where Y/N stands. She lazily shifts her body, letting the wood rip pass her face and penetrates the stone wall in the distance.

Taking this split second of opening, Gladio hops at the nearest vampire and twists his head with a satisfying crunch, incapacitated him instantly. The rest regain their composure, but not before Gladio heaves one up then hurls him into a wall. Then snapping another one’s spine with his knee. 

He is also taking hits, bruises appearing on his skin and his lips busted. He stops up at a tall statue and lifts the carved marble then swings it. While they fight, Y/N sits down on a stone bench, Granny Kimya brings her a cup of fresh blood. The smell makes Gladio falter and he’s momentarily distracted.

“Focus,” she says, bringing the cup to her mouth. 

She’s testing him again. 

He throws the statue and it explodes upon colliding with a vampire. Gladio dodges and blocks as a flurry of fists drives him back. He rolls to seize up the other half of the wooden stake. Remembering his Hunter training, Gladio strips any openings or advantages from his last opponent and sends the man flying toward a stone pillar. At the same time, Gladio launches the broken stake and pin the vampire to the column through the stomach.

Adrenaline rushes through Gladio like water crashing from a broken dam. He collapses to the ground on his knees. If he’s actually breathing, he would be gasping lungfuls of air. His muscles ache, sweat coats his inked skin and drenching his leather jacket.

“Faster than I expected. You surprised me.” Y/N leans down, placing a cup—the same one she was drinking from—down in front of him. The rich scent of the dark red liquid makes his stomach rumble, and he drains the goblet in seconds.

She looks around the courtyard; the defeated vampires groan and wince in pain, and glaring at Gladio as they take their leave. “Clean yourself up and meet me in the library,” she orders in a curt tone.

Gladio sits up and looks down at himself. “I think I’m fine.”

She shoots him a hard gaze. “I despise an unruly appearance. If you can make yourself presentable, why not do that?” She goes back inside the manor, distributing orders to Granny Kimya. “Granny Kimya, please call Cid in tomorrow and have him repair the court. And replace the Oracle idol with an angel.”

Granny Kimya bows her head. “It shall be done.”


	3. Origin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back to the world of blood and more messed up stuff! dunno how long this story will go, but imma let my brain pave the path. :3

**** The navy and gold-gilded hallway reminds Gladio of a dark sea reflecting dim lights. Old paintings, kept in excellent condition, decorate the walls. And not a single portrait in sight—nothing to commemorate any other previous masters of this house other than the name that this manor is built under. Masamune had given Gladio a quick tour earlier of the accessible parts of the estate: the sitting and lounging areas, the dining hall, the libraries, the large courtyard and gardens, the bedrooms, and the cellar, which Gladio’s already familiar with.

To his relief, the rules of the house aren’t too restricting, but it doesn’t really matter too much to him though, he doesn’t plan to stay here for long. If any vampires under Y/N’s clan, or any other clans in general, bring a bad reputation to their leader’s name, they will be exiled or severely punished. Or killed—depends of their master’s leniency. Clan details are forbidden to be uttered outside the manor and to outsiders. Do not fight comrades. And this one catches Gladio quite curious: respect Granny Kimya. 

The three words were clearly stated by Masa. Granny Kimya must be one of the genesis vampires if even Y/N refuses to raise her voice at the old woman. But what other role has she in this household other than her proclaimed stewart position? 

Then the apparent young boy emphasized this one specific rule with a glare:  _ Never set foot in the west wing of the manor. _

_ Unless you don’t value your own life enough, feel free to do so, _ Masa offered pointedly.

Gladio had refrained from asking why, knowing he wouldn’t get an answer. He didn’t notice he’s near the forbidden wing, and a movement catches his attention. Granny Kimya—with a tray most certainly carrying blood, thanks to his vampire senses—slips through the thick doors of the corridor entrance. He stares in the direction she’s gone through. 

It seems she’s permitted to come and go from there. Now he’s piqued about what hides in that sealed off part of the house. Not that he’ll be reckless enough to venture in there like in some cliché horror movies.

He spins around abruptly—and Y/N, like an elegant carving in her white dress, is regarding him lazily with her arms crossed. “I’m certain you have paid attention to the tour and rules of the house?” she says.

“I was just observing,” he answers back.

“Good. You should be well not doing more than that. Come.”

Gladio follows her to the library, and she starts off the lesson with the origin of the vampire race. She opens an old tome and flips to the page where an inky illustration shows a heavenly army behind six almighty gods condemning a troop of fallen angels to the Underworld—The Judgement Hours. She points at the picture. “You should know.”

“The Six and the Twenty-Four Heavenly Knights,” he states. “Though it’s more like the Twelve Heavenly Knights now. The other twelve went to hell for their betrayal.”

“The fallen ones are deemed the Knights of Hell. They once served the six Creators to protect mankind. However, one had a change of heart and viewed such flawed creatures do not deserve their piety. To prove mankind’s sins, the knight set a utopia in their world and watched the humans fight and destroy it. The twelve rebellious knights fought the Six and their brethrens in the sky, and their blood rained down on the land below, soaking the soil with a curse.

“The black rain phenomenon, as what the humans later named The Heavens Cry, caused humans to steer away from that piece of land in fear of being cursed. And that’s where the Aldercapt family came in. They were migrants who settled there and were exposed to the tainted soil. The disease made into their human system, and when they died, they came back as the world’s first vampires. They were the alpha bloodline who took on the title Children of Hell to name their new race.”

Gladio flips through the pages, nodding along to Y/N’s lecture; the vampire’s origin is part of the Hunters’ education. The Aldercapts were the master of all vampires, and drew different bloodlines to gather in their new society, until they were obliterated by the world’s first Hunter.

A soft knock comes at the door and a servant enters with tea. She curtsies and then begins pouring the rich Darjeeling into two elegant china cups. Gladio immediately knows what she is.

A Pigeon. A human who is employed by vampires for money or favors. Sometimes vampires adopt voluntary humans as permanent servants. Or a companion. Or a pet. Or simply a food bag. The Parliament cannot interfere as long as the Pigeon has given consent to be of service.

The maid sets the teapot down and asks in a lilting voice, “Anymore requests, Mistress?”

“That will be all,” says Y/N. “Thank you, Bryre.”

The maid smiles, bows, and leaves—but not without a brief glance at Gladio when she turns.

“She seems to enjoy what she’s doing,” Gladio observes after the door closes.

Y/N brings the cup to her mouth and takes a sip. “She’s not hypnotized. I gave her a home when no one else would. You find the strongest loyalty in the hopeless and desperate.” Then she indicates two familiar insignias drawn on the pages with sharp precision, like how Hunter weapons are made. “The Aldercapts founded the Vampire State Council not long before Floyd Silvercross formed the Hunter Parliament. He was a powerful symbol of salvation and justice—silently protecting mankind from the feral creatures before he, too, became one of them.”

Two millennia ago when the human world was terrorized by the gruesome findings of their kind drained of blood and viciously mutilated, one man came forth and hunted down these bestial creatures and brought them to justice.

Floyd Silvercross the Saint. The Dauntless. The Dignified and the Merciless. His strength and courage freed others from their shackles of terror and united them to fight back against these foreign and cruel enemies.

...As well as their loved ones, who’d fell into the clutches of such sins and monstrosity.

Floyd’s entrance into vampirism was his lost of everything dear to him—his kindred in the Hunter Parliament, his heavenly decree to protect man, and his precious his wife and daughter. Afraid of losing them and be left alone forever, he brought his family into the world of blood and immortality with him.

Even with his fall from grace, he’d never stopped pursuing law-breaking and feral vampires. His physical body may have succumbed to the disease, but his mind remained impenetrable. The Saint, the Dauntless, the Dignified, and the Merciless were not just mere descriptions people had bestowed him. He truly owned the titles.

Six hundred years ago, Floyd Silvercross suddenly vanished from the face of the world, and in his place as family head is the vampire sitting across from Gladio now. Nobody knows what happened to the gods-chosen warrior. Some say he was like a mentor to Y/N and passed on the Silvercross name to her before he hid himself away to mourn his daughter and wife. Others say Y/N usurped his name and power to destroy the vampire who’d murdered her family. Whatever the rumors and stories are saying, that doesn’t change the suspicion that Y/N Silvercross is hiding much more secrets than she lets on. Even if she  _ is _ kind enough to give a home for Rogues and Ferals, she’s expecting something in return—like their undying loyalty.

“...The laws of the Vampire Council are very much applied to your common sense; we do not interfere with the Parliament and they do not bother us. We are not beasts who haphazardly tear into humans. And do try to keep human’s knowledge that vampires had extinct untampered. They must not know of our existence, other than Pigeons. Are you listening?”

Her voice snaps him back to the present, and he nods. “Common sense. Heard you.”

Y/N’s gaze stays on him for a beat longer before getting up. “I will give the Council a call to register you into the archives. Uncertified vampires receives no protection from the Council, so it is necessary that you are admitted. You may need to step in tomorrow.”

Gladio nods in confirmation and then opens his mouth to ask, “So you use phones?”

Y/N looks at him as if he has just spoken in an alien language, and her brows draw a little closer. “How else do you think we communicate?” she asks.

He shrugs his shoulders. “I mean everything in this house seems luxuriously... _ old _ . So I was wondering if you keep in touch with the modern techs.” When her expression doesn’t change from her straight one, he coughs. “Nevermind.”

She moves to the library’s door, and before she leaves, “I believe the inventor of the world’s first telephone presented his first product to me before anyone else had it. I like my conveniences up to date, and my abode retaining the fineness and grandeur of history.” With that, the door closes, leaving Gladio alone with his tea, books, and momentary wonder.


	4. Going Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh did I see hinting of the past?  
> and looove the relationship between Gladio and Iris. siblings bond! <3

“Why do I need a gun?” 

Our vehicle rolls onto a path where it cuts through a sparse grove. The afternoon sun isn’t too strong today; a slight overcast with a bit of rays. A wonderful weather. Wakeful vampires would enjoy to linger outdoors longer without having to worry of their skin blistering. I have taken Katya under my wing as my Pigeon. If she refuses my offer, then she may sleep on the streets where all manners of depravity are slobbering to obtain young and vulnerable and alive flesh and bone to devour.

“You had practice in gunmanship, correct? Would it not be sensible to have one in your possession if anything unfortunate were to happen?” I say to her.

She gives me a skeptical look. “Only me? What about Bryre and the other...Pigeons?”

“Like I said, you are experienced. They are not. And you are a special case, because I have something I’d like you to do tonight.”

We come to a slow halt in front of a humble shop that sits amidst the reaching trees. My chauffeur comes around to open the door, and Katya follows behind me into the chipped brick house. 

Inside smelled like a coalescence of dust, coal, metal, and wood. Iron crafts and tools lay and hang on shelves and walls. The furnace is dead and the smith is nowhere to be seen. “Randolph,” I call. “Are you in?”

A crash of things metal and hollow comes from the back room, followed by a panicked voice. A moment later the man finally tumbles out into the workshop. At the first look, you wouldn’t have thought of him as someone who forges metal for a living; he is a thin and gangly old man. But appearance often belies the real nature, does it not?

“Ah, Lady Silvercross! Welcome.” When he bows, something scuttles over his bald head, and his hand flies to his face with a loud slap. Then he flicks the dead roach off to the side as if it is a very average thing to do. Katya doesn’t hide her disgust as her lips twist to show teeth. I blink one more time before clearing my throat. How does he still stand in perfect health and swat flies is beyond me. What filth.

“Is it ready?” I ask, pulling my gloves on tighter.

“Oh yes! It’s at the back. I’ll go get it.” A moment later he reappears with a wooden box, polished to shine, and presents it to me. “I haven’t created something so intricate in so long. But I guarantee this is my finest work at the moment.”

I open the box; inside houses the double-action revolver I have commissioned a short while ago. The thin vining carvings on the steel speak of excellent artisanship. Every compositions and details are precisely thought out and ensembled. I flick the cylinder open and snap it shut again. The sound is crisp and secured. “Beautiful craftsmanship. I expect nothing less from you, Randolph.” Now I gesture toward Katya. “Something for this girl as well, if you please.”

~

Gladio takes an unnecessary breath.  _ This is a bad idea.  _ He’s been gone from home for only a week but it feels like it’s been months. The lights are on so they must still be up. He rings the doorbell. His heart no longer beats, but it feels as if it might smash through his chest as he prepares what to say when he sees them. A moment later someone answers the door, and their eyes go wide. 

“Y-Young Master.” Jared Hester, the Amicitia’s chamberlain, looks as if he’s seeing a ghost.

“Hello, Jared.”

“Where have you been? You were gone for so long without calling home. We were so worried about you.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve called. Is Dad and Iris okay?”

“Gladdy!” Iris peeks out in the foyer, and then tosses herself through the threshold at Gladio. Her eyes are watery when she looks up at him. “I thought something happened to you. Where’d you go?”

Gladio hands rest reassuringly on his sister’s shoulders. “Somewhere. But I’m okay, as you can see.”

“But your hands are so cold.” She takes them in hers. “Come inside and warm up.”

She leads him in when Clarus appears at the door. His stern eyes soften when he sees Gladio. And behind his father is a man Gladio hasn’t seen in a long time—Clarus’s old-time friend and comrade—Titus Drautos. “My son. What in the world happened? We found the vehicle you used to escort the prince home burned. And you were gone.”

“A Feral situation,” Gladio fills in. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

“Come inside and talk. We have reported you missing on the bulletin. We thought you were another victim to these missing cases.” 

They usher Gladio in, but he remains in his spot at the doorstep. He can’t bring himself to move (and it’s not that he’s not invited in, because they did), he’s just afraid of what people will say or do should they find out that the Parliament’s high councilor is still recognizing his vampire son. Gladio meets their eyes. “I came to let you guys know that I’m okay. There’s no need to worry about me. And I’ll be away for a while so...don’t come to find me. I’ll come back if I want to.”

Iris looks very confused at his side. “What are you talking about? Where are you going?” She tightens her hands on him, making it hard for him to let go of her too. Clarus stands still. The uncomfortable silence makes Gladio want to melt away so he doesn’t have to look at the faces they’re giving him. Then in one swift motion, Clarus whips the gun from his belt and points it at him. Iris’s eyes go wide, as well as Jared’s, who’s been watching from behind everyone. “Daddy! What are you doing?!”

“Tell me,” Clarus says lowly. “Tell me you’re not one.”

Gladio holds his father’s harsh gaze before answering in a steady tone. “I am one,” he says. “That’s what I’m here to tell you. That I won’t be coming home anymore. I came to say goodbye.” He bows to them and turns to leave—

“No!” Iris exclaims, still clutching his arm. “Dad, put the gun down! Gladdy, you need to explain to us. Who turned you? We will find them and turn them in to the Parliament.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gladio says, hesitating for a second. His eyes meet Titus’s. “I want to become one. I gave them permission to do it.”

Clarus grips his pistol tighter. His mouth thins to a fine line. “Why,” his voice stressed with hurt, “have you chosen this path? You could have went a warrior.”

“I think seeing my family is more important than preserving an honorable title. I don’t regret my choice.”

“You will regret it soon,” Clarus grinds out. “Nothing good can come out of surviving from blood and preying on humans. My son, you have made a terrible mistake.” He lowers his arm, and Gladio sees the pain on his father’s face as he turns his back. When Clarus speaks again, it takes so much effort to not let his anguish to show. “Do not appear before this house again.” Then he vanishes into the manor.

Jared and Titus go back in as well, only Iris remains with him. She seems to be at a loss of what to say. Her cute little face is troubled with sadness and disbelief. He can’t bear to see her like this. “It’s okay, Iris.” He strokes her cheek with his thumb. “We can’t avoid this. I’m surprised I even had the guts to show up tonight to personally tell you guys. I could’ve just sent a note or keep ya waiting until you get the hint. Don’t cry.”

She lets him wipe the tears from her lashes. “Dad still loves you, you know. We all do.”

“I know. I love you all too. Especially you.”

“Gladdy…” Iris closes her eyes and opens them. “I’ll always be on your side. If you ever need help, come to me. I want you to.”

Gladio smiles ruefully, and messes up her hair. “The Amicitias never give up on who?”

“Each other.”

After some more persuading Iris to go back in to the house, Gladio takes one last look (not forever) at his home before starting down the dark road back to the Silvercross Manor. He hasn’t gone very far when someone calls his name. He looks back to see Titus approaching. Despite his imposing structure, he walks with a sense of grace—like a depicted knight.

“You’re going home?” Titus asks.

“Yeah.”

“Where are you staying?”

Gladio shrugs. “Somewhere.” He doesn’t want to say that he’s living in the Silvercross estate. And he’ll be leaving there soon anyway. “I have enough for two weeks at a cheap inn.”

Titus arches a brow. “That’s not very long. What are you going to do after?”

Gladio lifts his shoulder again. “I’m no longer a Hunter and don’t get paid anymore, I’ll just find for a normal job and go with that.”

Titus nods along thoughtfully. Gladio notices the man has a few extra scars on his face that he doesn’t remember him having. “You can stay at my place. And I won’t charge you. I can’t have my nephew prowl the streets like a rogue without a home.”

“Wow. The _ Master Hunter _ himself offering to share his home with me? For free? Feels like a trap.”

“Usually I’m no charity. But as I said, I won’t let Clarus’s son wander the streets doing shadowy things. I mean you can pay up, if that makes you more comfortable.” He crosses his arms. “What? Are you not trained?”

Gladio scratches his brow. “I’m getting there. Strength and impulse harder to control, but I got it. Urge to feed is manageable.”

“Decent. Then I don’t have to worry about getting pounced on in my sleep.”

“I’m more worried about me,” Gladio mutters to himself. 

“I won’t tell your father or Iris, unless you want me to.”

“No. Dad doesn’t care about me, but Iris… I can’t risk the Parliament finding out that she’s hanging with me.” Everybody knows what will happen if a Hunter is caught associating with their vampire family member. No matter how capable of a Hunter Iris is, Gladio knows she will go find him if she knows where he is.  _ Nope, she’ll stay where she is. _ He looks at Titus. “When did you get back?”

“Yesterday. I heard my sister is in trouble, so I came back to see if she’s all right. I can’t get hold of her, however.”

“Never knew you had a sister.”

“She’s married to Abel French.”

Gladio knits his brows.  _ Abel French? That’s Katya’s father. _

~

The French’s last villa (now mine) stands like a dark cutout against the night backdrop. No lights are on, and I sense not a presence of life here, as if the mansion is abandoned. Katya seems a little too anxious when she rings the doorbell. I observe the premises. The hedges and trees are unkempt. Fallen leaves skittering across the courtyard. Weeds are sprouting from the cracks of the stone pathway. The place has not been looked after for a while.

“That’s weird. Where could they have gone?” Katya bangs louder on the door this time. “Mom! Dad! It’s me, Katya! Can you open the door, please?”

Still no answer.

“They probably knew I was coming, and fled,” I say, coming up to the doorstep, grab the door handle and twist it—the lock breaks with a loud clank. And I let myself in. 

It is completely dark in here, but it poses no inconvenience to me. Katya flips the light switch on, but nothing flares up. The power  _ is _ out. 

The house is white marble, with columns that reach to the ceiling of the foyer. A black iron chandelier hangs from above and a set of curving stairs that leads up to the second floor. There's a mix of both historical and modern elements in the architecture.

“I will be looking upstairs,” I say, climbing the steps. “Do stay alert. I don’t believe we are alone.”

While I leave her downstairs I go from room to room in search of something I am solely here for. It’s not much of an all-important item; an heirloom given to me the day I was born. A thing that I no longer need. But long story short, I lent it to a family ages ago, then happenings happened, and it slipped from me.

Eventually, I have come up with nothing. If anyone were to know where the artifact is kept, it will be the current owner. But putting into consideration that the villa is as dead as an extinct family, I doubt I can ask the patriarch. I am about to go summon Katya up here when I hear a scream, a loud crash, and then gunfire from downstairs. I leave the bedroom I am in and out to the railing that overlooks the foyer below. Katya dashes into my line of sight, her handgun drawn, and emptying bullets into the stranger’s legs. Plainly, it is futile when he continues to limp forward with inhuman speed.

I lean forward on the balustrade, watching with amusement as Katya struggles against her father with a chair between them. “Is that dear old papa? He doesn’t look very good, does he?” Abel growls and snarls like an insane animal, fighting to get a bite out of soft flesh.

“Miss Y/N, help me!”

“What have I taught you the last couple of days? Utilize it. From your position, you can also put a bullet in his head.”

“I can’t shoot my father!”

“Then die.”

Abel is clearly more stronger than Katya. He knocks her to the floor. Her feet on his stomach is the only thing keeping her safe from his snapping jaws. Fangs as sharp as needles flash in the dark. He may not be able to reach her neck, but her arms are extended to push at him. He goes for her forearm and clamps down. Katya lets out a shattering scream.

I roll my eyes.  _ Pathetic. _ In a beat I am behind Abel’s hunched form and I snap his neck. Katya throws him off of her and struggles to her feet. Her eyes are opened wide and her breathing heavy. I break a piece off of the stairs railing and toss the stake to her. “Finish the job.”

“What?”

“He’s a Feral. Beyond saving. He doesn’t recognize anything but gutting into people.” I look around. “He made a meal out of your mother, did he not?”

She winces. Desperation and horror chasing each other across her face. “But don’t you take in Ferals? You can help him.”

“I do. And I can. But I won’t. Do not say I didn’t give him a chance. I have given him many, yet he’s chosen to take my leniency for granted. Now I have come to collect what is mine, and he will own absolutely nothing. Not even his miserable life.” I nod at the unconscious Abel on the floor. “Put him out of this tragedy. This is my last mercy I will show him—despite his insolent behavior towards me. I have never been more generous, girl.”

The banister shakes in her bloody hands, she is debating if she has it in her to take a life. Her father’s life. But then a glint shimmers in her blue eyes. “He cared too much for himself. He sold me to a whorehouse. Turned himself into a crazy monster, and ate Mom.” She kneels beside her father. Her face twisted in a mix of resentment and sorrow. “No matter what changes, you are always my dad...a  _ selfish _ ,  _ arrogant _ ,  _ stupid _ dad.” Then she plunges the stake into his heart. The body jerks. Bulky veins starts climbing up his paling skin, black and redness grows around his eyes, turning him into an ugly creature that is the vampires’ true form.

Then I notice a thin chain around Abel’s neck, the pendant is hidden within his shirt.  _ Of course. _ He was wearing it because he thought he was getting sick, but in fact he was already turned, and the vampire disease was causing him disorientation and a strong urge to feed. He thought the stone would cure him of his “illness”.  _ Foolish human. _

I reach down and snatch the necklace up. The heavy circular jade dangles in front of me. It can barely be seen, but there is a very small symbol etched on one side of the stone—my family crest. It looks like a very normal piece of jewelry; even a little dull from centuries of passing down, but their power never dies. And I cannot say I am too glad to see it again.

This necklace that once kept me upright.

This necklace that I once thought would do good.

This necklace that upended my life, and ended hers, forever.


	5. Clan is Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do ya like Gladio’s POV or reader’s POV? I just noticed that I'm leaning more on Gladio’s. it came naturally. ^-^

The drill really had him on his last legs. Tonight’s practice started off with reining back the appetite. He would take on ten vampires at once than to endure another excruciating hour of self-restraint again—when also that storage of blood bags was right in front of him, taunting him with their luscious scent. And if that ain’t bad enough (keep in mind that he was told to avoid feeding beforehand), for the last half of the hour, they brought out humans, all covered in blood (not their own) to take it up a notch.

But he’s lucky. If there’s one thing he’ll praise himself for after awakening as a vampire it is that he’s able to quell that animalistic impulse better than any novice he’s encountered. Even Noah, a thirty-year-old vampire who appears to be nineteen, also Gladio’s trainer, lifted his brows in awe. Then they went on to strength control, reflex enhancement, and agility training. 

The Silvercrosses have residential areas throughout the city for clan members, but Gladio’s opted to stay at Titus’s two-story within the sleepless metropolis. He’s also taken a job at a local jazz bar where he works as a night bartender. The wages are decent, enough to pay for accommodation and personal spending. And his looks, what can he say, a huge attribute for those extra incentives and compliments.

Noctis and the others still don’t know about his transition into a night creature. He is to meet up with them tonight after his training. He has no idea how they’ll react; whatever their relationship is after this, Gladio will respect their decisions. 

Something stops him in the hallway—servants come in and out of a lounge room with trays of rare imported foods. Inside the room is Y/N, in her ever-posh getup and demeanor, sipping from a crystal flute. She looks up from her tablet, smiles, and invites him to join her. She pats the spot next to her on the red velvet settee. 

“Sit,” she says.

He’s about to decline, saying he has prior engagements, but the expectant look she gives him pauses his tongue. He glances at the grand grandfather clock against the wall. He _does_ have some time, so why not? He settles down next to her, remembering to keep some distance as a form of courtesy. A curving smile appears on her perfect face. She sets the tablet on the small table beside her, pour a new glass of those light blue wine, and hands it to him. “How was tonight’s session?”

He takes the glass with a polite bow. “The usual. Progressive. Manageable. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“That’s great. I hear about your fast improvements from your trainers. Everyone is talking about you.”

More like gossiping about how bizarre he is. They’re saying how they’ve never known anyone who had passed an entire night without drinking blood during transitioning. And how unbelievably quick he is at mastering his new instincts in just a few weeks, when it had taken several months for other vampires to do the same thing. He downs the blue drink in one tilt. “What’s the occasion?” His eyes go to the variety of desserts and small finger foods on the table.

“Must I have an occasion to enjoy good food?” she quips lightheartedly then nods at the dishes. “They are imported from Tenebrae. Have some.”

“I’m good. Not that hungry.” The idea of consuming human food has been a lesser concern of his now. He can still eat and drink like normal, but the appetite for it is diminished.

“Hm. Suit yourself.” She picks out some kind of milky purple gelatin dessert, dusted with tiny gold flakes, and puts a small forkful in her mouth then smiles in satisfactory. “I heard you visited your home,” she begins. “How did they take your new you?”

The memory of his father pointing a gun at him and the teary look Iris had given him resurfaced in his mind. His heart twists painfully. “Like most Hunters would. Unhappy. Disappointed. Angry. We all just have to suck it up.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” she offers softly. “Time is the best solace.”

He wonders how did _her_ family react when she became one. He doesn’t expect a reply to his question, but she surprises him—with a response and the answer itself.

“My parents died before I was turned.” She sounds so nonchalant when she says it that if her gaze isn’t already turned down he might think she doesn’t care. “But it is also a relief. They did not have to see their child became something they despised their whole lives. They would have killed me before I even had my first urge to feed.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He’d only learned excerpts about the L/N House. The L/Ns, the Amicitias, the Highwinds, and a few others are deemed as some of the most prominent Hunter families—after Floyd Silvercross. Out of them all, the L/Ns were the most strict in retaining the Hunter’s laws and orders. They had held high positions in the Hunter Parliament.

But one fateful night, they perished in an arson fire. The Parliament hadn’t a clue of who might have done such an atrocious crime until Y/N slaughtered the perpetrator in revenge for her parents. The killer was the master of the House of Izunia—Ardyn Izunia.

However, it’s not confirmed if it was really Izunia who’d burned the L/N Manor. But after so many looping speculation and theorizing, it became an unaffirmed fact that he had done it to avenge his wife Aera Mirus Fleuret, who was _allegedly killed_ by the L/Ns. The whole incident is still shrouded in mystery. If anyone knows the truth or more of what had happened, it will be Y/N. 

Gladio observes Y/N as she sips her sylleblossom wine again. Her movement is as smooth and elegant as the drink itself. He can’t help but admire. What made her this way? What motivates her to pursue such great power and build an empire which made up more than half of Insomnia’s business industry. One thing he does know, though—you don’t want to make an enemy of her.

He notices a very faint mark on either side of her temples, a small, skin-toned scar that looks like it’d been made from something with a pointed tip. She catches him staring and raises her eyebrows quizzically.

“Yes?”

“How’d you get these?” He points to his head, and then realizes he’s asked the wrong question. Again. Y/N’s eyes flash a venomous glint. Yeah, curiosity will be the death of anyone. Even the undead. He braces himself for an acidic warning. 

But she’s not upset like he thinks she is. Instead, her lips scoop upward in a cold smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She points at the scars. “These are the results if you stray from the glorious Hunter Parliament’s—and society’s—philosophy of _normalcy_.” When Gladio frowns in non-understanding, she explains. “Old society had put such restrictions on what were considered right and good that if Hunters acted out of their norm, the Parliament gets scared and attempts to fix it.” 

Gladio decides against asking what she’d done that she’d needed to be “fixed”. He clears his throat. “They also say you’d planned the arson with Izunia to get rid of your parents. Say you were angry and frustrated with their severe faith to the Laws and Orders that you wanted to set yourself free from their chains.”

“Rumors keep the story alive—despite how twisted and mangled they are.” She blinks slowly. “I’ve done many things throughout my life, out of goodness and out of spite, but,” her voice turns grim, “I am not heartless, Gladiolus. No matter how much I loathed my parents’ blind faith to rules, I would _never_ wish them death. You told me I can’t sympathize because I don’t have a family.” Gladio regrets saying that. “I lost mine too soon. Until I could help every homeless vampire I see on the streets and give them a home to stay, I was all alone. So my clan _is_ my family, Gladiolus. And I should be very offended if anyone says otherwise.”

Gladio is quiet. A pang of guilt and anger permeates from his chest. He’s never been alone. He’s never wandered the streets and gathered strangers to join a family. He has one. One who loves him. One who cares for him. One who’s never forced him into anything. He imagines her family’s affections were shown through tough love. That’s why she doesn’t tolerate weakness in her people. Her love is shown through by encouraging them to fend for themselves.

She huffs out a laugh through her nose, as if she’s heard his thoughts. “You needn’t be sorry. I have been told things much worse. But if you must pity, I would rather be admired.” When she smiles, her initial graveness melts away, like sunlight diminishes darkness.

She only appears as the Mistress everyone adores. Carefree yet caring, and nothing to show that she’s come from a difficult past.

He has always thought that she’s beautiful. Deadly breathtaking. From the day he’d first met her in the Council-Parliament conclave when he was eleven, accompanying his father to the chamber but had to wait outside. He was captivated by her instantly. Her eyes were like precious gemstones. Her smile gorgeous. Her skin radiated the soft glow of a pearl. She has everything everyone will die for. 

He didn’t know what came over him, but when he knows what he’s doing, he’s too late. He closes the space between them and presses his lips to hers.

A sweet rush of electricity tingles his blood. He’s half expecting her to push him away and deheart him right on the spot. She doesn’t. To his surprise, she deepens the kiss by pulling him in by the back of his neck. Her mouth works in compatibility with his own. She tastes of sugar and wine. 

She pushes him against the backrest and climbs on top of him as his eager palms are feeling up her luscious body and squeezing her hips to elicit a delicious giggle into his mouth. 

 _Gods._ How does this feel so damn good, they’re only kissing. Each nudge of the lips speaks of _more_ . _More harder. More wilder._ More grotesque desire to taste each other’s blood on their tongues. The thought sends a thrilling tremor up his spine to his limbs. Vampires usually don’t consume each other’s blood; bitter from the disease and death. Unlike the pure sweetness of human’s. He wouldn’t say he’s vain or anything, but she’s definitely attracted to him, as he is to her. The way she regards him—hazy eyes, half-lidded and twinkling with something that promises danger—he finds it so irresistibly hot. If he were still a human, she’ll waste no goddamn second to plunge her pretty fangs into his neck and suck him dry, leaving just enough so he stays alive. And he would let her.

Then a knock comes at the door, and to his disappointment, she breaks the scorching touch with a soft smooch.

“Yes?” 

Granny Kimya opens the door and isn’t revolted at the sight that she’s just walked in on: Y/N on Gladio’s lap; his hands on her bare thighs, riding up the fabric of her dress. “Mistress, Mister Titus Drautos has requested for Miss Katya.”

“Titus?” Y/N gives Gladio a suspecting look before moving away completely and smooths down her dress. “Send him in, please.”

A moment later Granny Kimya re-enters with Titus and then takes her leave. Y/N smiles at him from where she is on the chaise longue. He meets Gladio’s eyes before inclining his head politely to her. “Miss L/N,” he greets. 

Gladio looks them back and forth, surprised that he’s called her by her true name. Clearly Titus has some history with her—good or bad Gladio doesn’t know. He glances at Y/N to see her reaction. She just smiles her coquettish grin, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Still so defiant. But you have aged well, my boy.”

Titus’s expression doesn’t change, but the corner of his mouth turns upward imperceptibly. “And you have barely changed yourself. I’m talking about your means for amusement.” His gaze cuts to Gladio.

Y/N lets out a demure chuckle. “You are here for your niece, yes?”

“Where is she?”

“Uncle.”

All attentions snatch to where Katya now appears at the door. She’s still in her day clothes, her blonde hair sits in natural waves, her azure eyes wide with relief to finally see him.

Then the conversation is left to them when Gladio leaves to his meetup with the boys at their usual haunt.


	6. Welcome Home, Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> took the liberty to use Steyliff Grove's sealed dungeon as a tomb cuz why not? plot's finally picking up, no more bs.

I know this day will come, when we confront each other again, after I’d imprisoned him here. But I haven’t expected it to be so soon. The stone coffin is empty of its occupant, and I’m confident that he did not undaggered himself and fled this tomb on his own.

I frown. “When did this happen?” The thought of him already regaining his strength and power outside somewhere sends a tingle of disquiet to my mind.

Marlene shakes her head. “That’s unclear. The door was still intact when I came to check in two months back.”

Two months. Definitely enough time for him to fully revitalize. And also explains why my people are being murdered and gone missing without a trace lately. “Send words. Have everyone on the lookout.”

Marlene nods once and vanishes from the underground dungeon. I glide my fingers along the edge of the coffin, feeling its rough surface. I must admit, the prospect of finally meeting him soon is both thrilling and unnerving all at once. But I am prepared.

Floyd Silvercross has awakened. And he will come to look for me first.

~

It’s baffling and maddening. For the last hour Gladio’s been going back and forth at the large city map tacked to the wall, its surface marked with small red pins that remind him of beads of blood indicating specific locations. Notes are also written to describe each missing and abduction case.

“What’s your take? Any names in mind?” Titus comes to stand next to him, his hands behind his back, studying the map.

From what Gladio knows, the incidents mostly occurred in the slums and the poorer districts. The victims are all human children ranging from a few months old to young adolescents, as well as women—more specifically pregnant women.

“It could be anyone,” he replies after a moment. “Humans. Vampires. Or maybe the victims don’t want to be found at all and purposely hidden away. And there’s simply no evidence to trace back to anyone. Investigators and law enforcers got it real tough.”

“Only in the past years do we see changes in the victim types; it had gradually gone from full grown adults to infants and pregnant women. It may or may not be the same person. It could be multiple culprits. Or a covert organization.”

“Yet you think this is the doings of vampires. That’s why you’re looking into this.”

“I have my doubts. But more importantly these children and women could still be alive, and continue to be if help comes as soon as possible.” Titus lowers his brows as if he’s recalling a past memory. “It’s sickening they’re targeting the most defenseless and vulnerable. Easy preys; mostly go unnoticed or will not be missed.”

“I heard you’re from the poor districts.”

“I was thirteen, hungry, desperate, with a kid sister on my back. We would scour the streets for scraps of food to live another day. One day I met Y/N when I lingered near the rich sectors and attempted to rob her, a stupidly bad idea, but she ended up adopting both of us. When I’d reached my young adult years I decided to leave with my sister and put all of these vampire thing behind me. Every discharged Pigeon must have their memories of their employment span erased, I asked her to spare me because I’d once loved her.” His blue eyes somber when he looks at Gladio. “I won’t tell you what to do, it’s not my business. But what I want to say is—be careful.”

~

Three Days Later 

The conference with the Council and clan heads finally ends, Councilor Scarlet stops me in the corridor. She struts over in her white councilor robe with her signature red smirk plastered on her face. I never really liked her, her I-am-greater-than-you nature often chafes my patience, yet I’m sure I induce the same sentiment in her as well. In spite of that, however, we do share a common interest: our disdain for the Hunter Parliament and eagerness to see them on their last legs.

“Are you sure it’s him? Mankind’s legendary hero has returned from his bottomless grief?” The undulations of her sly tone are not helping my irked mood. I have half a mind to turn my back and leave her babbling in the hall. “I’ve always thought he had taken his own life to accompany his dead wife and daughter.”

“My vampires have been going missing and found dead in dark streets and crevices, and his mark was left behind to declare his graceful return. That is proof enough. But you and the others can all rest assured, unless you had offended him in any way.”

The woman crosses her arms and flashes me a sneering grin. “I’d say you must stay heedful yourself. I don’t believe Master Silvercross had officially  _ and _ willingly lent you his position as head of the house.” Her grin grows wider. “Perhaps the only  _ head _ position you’ll receive is your skull on a silver platter when he returns to power.”

My smile fades a little, and I renew it. “Your concern is much appreciated, Councilor Scarlet. Whether or not my power is obtained officially or willingly, I am still more influential to our brethren than you senators will ever be.” I rejoice at the expression on her face, but I don’t let it show. “Perhaps if you hadn’t stabbed me in the back when the Council found out about our little operations ages ago, we could be running my empire in harmonious cooperation.”

Marlene greets me when I slip into the vehicle and head back to the manor. She’s usually silent and detached when running errands or on missions, when she’s not she is an absolutely lovable girl. Right now I don’t sense her usual vibrant energy.

“What did you find?” I ask her.

Her young face contorts grievously when she relays the news to me. “Granny Kimya called. She said someone severed Noah’s head and left it at the front door. It’s horrible.”

His glorious way of saying  _ Welcome me home, little lass. _ But I’m ready. And he won’t be quite so happy to hear what his virtuous Parliament has been up to while he slept—should he finds out.

The driver suddenly exclaims in panic and slams hard on the brakes. We sway forward in our seats. I grimace. “What’s the matter, Salvador?”

“Madam, some insane guy refuses to move out of the way.” He honks at the person again. I look through the windshield glass, and I freeze. Less than a dozen feet away stands a man I haven’t seen alive in almost six hundred years. My two companions don’t know who he is, they look on with curious hostility.

Salvador moves to get out the car but I stop him. I go out to the front of the car and smiled a greeting. “A long while hasn’t it, Master Floyd?”

Floyd Silvercross’ ice blue glare turns colder in the bright headlights, his long gray coat flapping gently in the night wind. His dark hair hasn’t grown in his slumber; shaved sides with three thin braids down the back, and trimmed stubble. His face in a perpetual scowl. He holds nothing in his hands, but I know better. Then the corner of his mouth twitches up imperceptibly.

“I would have happily welcomed you back with a grand celebration, if you’d simply shown up on my doorstep. Mutilating my children for sport seems hardly a thing a noble warrior like you should do.”

“Come now. You have not known me well if you truly thought I would simply make my appearance without inducing some sort of anticipation, and hopefully a little fear.”

“Of course.” I readjust my long leather gloves. My own long coat draped over my shoulders. “What do you have in mind, Master Floyd?”

“You look unsettled, disciple. I only hope to talk.”

“I don’t believe you are solely here for that,” I say. “But I will entertain you.”

Floyd’s teeth flashes dangerously. “Excellent.” I barely see him move but I twisted out of the way as something came hurtling straight at me, and the axe buries into the car’s windshield behind me, creating a web of cracks on the glass. I flee from the site, not waiting for him, and he catches up to me in no time. 

Our brawl brings us near the wall that retains the capital city of Lucis. We scale up it while he continues to swing his axe. This brings us back to times long ago when he was my guiding mentor and I was his diligent student; we were sparring how we are now and he would praise me for my every improvement and I would puff up my chest with pride. What bittersweet bygones. I have no weapon but I am versed without it too. The slight vulnerability after the momentum of his swing gives me enough opening to strike. My kick almost tosses him over the edge of the wall—but he is a legendary hero, a weak kick won’t be his defeat. I lost my coat, my trousers and waistcoat sustained rips and cuts along the way, the fresh gashes on my flesh already healing. A large crimson patch stains his shirtfront from when I plunged into his chest with my clawed gloves, missing his heart by a hair. 

His bloodthirst rolling off him like fire. He wants to kill me, but he’s hesitant, and I know why. “What is it, mentor? Aren’t you going to sever my head and mount it on your wall as a trophy?”

“Where’s Aerglo?”

_ There it is. _ His key concern. And his greatest weakness.

I grin, tasting bitter blood in my mouth. “She misses you dearly.”

His lips twisted up savagely, his vicious fangs long to tear me to shreds and crush my bones. His scleras are drowned in blood-red, dark veins crawl around his eyes. 

“ _ Where. Is. She. _ ”

“She is under perfect care. It should be very unfortunate if you kill me here. Lady Aerglo’s safety won’t be guaranteed if you do.”

“Why did you not kill us both when you had the first chance?” Then understanding comes across his expression, the veins around his eyes receding. “Aera,” he whispers, “she will always be your weakness. Because you had not killed off her parents, now they come to take you.”

The razor tips of my gloves dig into my palms, cutting into flesh, and blood spills onto the ground. The hot pain keeps my focus clear from his taunts. He thinks that I still care. What foolish assumption.  _ Is he wrong? _ A voice whispers in my head, halting me for a second.  _ Do you really not care? _ I tighten my fists, letting the pulsing pain wash out these damnable thoughts. He blames me, and my parents, for his daughter’s death, I know. He wants me dead. But not when he disappears before I do. “You forced me to do this,” I say, my fingers twitching, not because of the pain but for something. “Don’t blame me.” I whip my gun from my belt—“Die!” and fire—

My footing loses ground, and I’m falling backward, something lodges into my chest but I cannot see what it is, my body is paralyzed. As I plummet off the wall, my vision blackening, I see Floyd on fire and I smile inwardly.


End file.
